


The Path to Oblivion

by Nikolaivna



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Corruption, F/M, Fighter's Guild, Gen, Invesitgation, main quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolaivna/pseuds/Nikolaivna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the fate of the Tamriel and a glittering trinket dropped into her hands: Cyra seeks to find answers to Cyrodiil's problems on her own terms and in her own good time.</p><p>Loosely follows Fighter's Guild, MQ, and several side quests, (eventual M/F paring undecided at this time... summary will be updated as the rest of the details are hashed out)</p><p>The Elder Scrolls Series is owned by Bethesda; I take no credit for their hard work or excellently crafted lore that I'm leaning so heavily against to create this fan fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rain droplets splashed on Cyra's face, rousing her from slumber. She could see flashes of lightning through the tiny window of her cell high above. The bars on the window kept her inside, but they did little to keep the storm out. Rain formed rivulets down the cell wall pooling on the floor and saturating the straw pile she slept on. Cyra cupped her hands to catch some of the running water and splashed it on her face, trying in vain to scrub away some of the grime. She'd lost track of how long she'd been in prison and someday she hoped she might lose track of the reason why as well.

            "Ah, you're awake are you Imperial?" a voice sneered.

Cyra knew the voice well; she'd listened to his taunts mercilessly since they'd thrown her into this gods forsaken pit,

            "Shut up Valen," she hissed at him.

            "Are you going to make me? Do you have some sort of special deal worked out with the guards? Special treatment for special services?" the Dark Elf mocked in maniacal laughter.

            Cyra stepped over to a part of her cell that was hidden from his view and crumpled into a ball.

            "I know you can still hear me whore. You're going to die down here you know, I'm sure they'll treat you real nice before the end though," Valen called, "Your own kinsmen think you're nothing but trash; criminal scum, you give all Imperials a bad name."

            Long ago, perhaps the taunts would have brought her to tears but Cyra found that she had none left to shed as of late. There was no one left in all of Tamriel that cared or perhaps that even knew she was locked away down here. She went through the motions of sleeping and eating by rote: her mind languished and her body grew frail.

            Lightning rent the sky and the thunder that followed shook the very foundations of the prison; in the silence that followed she could hear footsteps and voices coming down the stairs. It was odd, she thought, usually a guard came in the morning to shove the stale prison rations and a clean chamber pot through the small opening at the base of the bars: that was it. Cyra never saw more than one, perhaps two guards at a time, but now muffled footsteps and muted voices belonging to several were advancing down the stairs.

                        "They're coming for you! HA HA HA HA HA! You're going to die!" Valen cackled madly.

            Cyra rose and pressed against the bars, trying to count the shadows in the flickering torchlight.

            "...We must keep moving Sire..." bits of the conversation wafted down the hall, Cyra retreated into the shadows as the glow of torches approached.

            "What's this prisoner doing in here? This cell is supposed to be empty!" A woman outfitted in a unique set of armor exclaimed as she stopped in front of Cyra's cell.

            "The usual mix up at the watch," an Imperial man with said offhandedly.

            "Get this door open," she commanded.

            "Right away Captain; you there, Prisoner, over by the window and you won't get hurt," the Imperial directed.  He wore matching armor, Cyra had never seen armor like it before: the steel was layered in small bands and ornately embellished.

            "Over by the window prisoner!" The man demanded: he made a shooing motion with his hand. Cyra felt a little disoriented by the sudden intrusion but moved to comply; the door to the cell swung open and the three armored people marched in, escorting an elderly man dressed in splendid raiment. 

            "Nice and easy prisoner, just stay right there," the second guard spoke in a placating tone, a Redguard. Cyra did her best to press into the corner of her cell away from the group.

            "You. I know you. Come closer," the elderly man said suddenly beckoning to Cyra.

            "Sire, really," the Captain chided.

            Cyra approached tentatively,

            "Yes, you're the one from my dreams. Today is the day then, I go to my grave," the man said in resignation.

            "I...I don't understand," Cyra said hoarsely, "Who are you?"

            "By the grace of the Nine I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. Assassins have killed my heirs and they hunt me even as we speak. My Blades are leading me out of the city to a place of safety," the old man explained earnestly.

            "What should I do? I'm a prisoner here," Cyra asked, suddenly struck with a strong desire to help the man.

            "You must go your own way, we will cross paths again before the end," Uriel replied.

            "Better not shut this door, there's no way to open it from the other side," one of the guards said as the Captain depressed a stone in the column and a secret passage swung open.

            "Looks like today's your lucky day Prisoner, that's as close to an Imperial pardon as you're going to get. Just stay out of our way," the Redguard said bringing up the tail of the party as they moved through the party.

            "Lucky day indeed. Months and months of living in this hole and all I had to do was press the right stone..." Cyra trailed off. She paused for a moment to wave mockingly at Valen whose gray face had turned purple in rage,

            "I'd say that I'll miss you but, well... I won't," Cyra called before blowing him a kiss and following the Emperor's party into the dark.

            It didn't take long for her to catch up with the group; they were progressing through the long forgotten tunnels slowly, with great caution.

            "Prisoner, stay back or I'll cut you down where you stand," the Imperial guard said coldly.

            "Alright, alright... I'll be back here in case anything sneaks up on us," Cyra replied, dropping back a few paces. The smoothly hewn stone walls reflected light from the torches carried up ahead. The arched doors and recesses were finely crafted and shaped with the pale stone. The place seemed to have been an underground sanctum from long ago.

            Suddenly the Redguard called out,  

            "Here they come again! Protect the Emperor!"

            A steady stream of assassins seemed to materialize out of thin air.

                        "My life for the dragon!" the Imperial called as he and the Captain joined the fray. Cries of effort and pain intermingled as the guards attempted to hack their way through the assailants.

            Cyra crept close to the Emperor: he stood poised with his silver sword drawn, ready to use it if need be.  

            "They just keep coming," Cyra marveled as another assassin cropped up in the place where one had been cut down.

            "This is only the beginning. The worst is yet to come," the Emperor replied calmly.

            "That's all of them," the Redguard called out.

            "Captain Renault?" The Emperor inquired.

            "She’s dead Sir," the Redguard replied.

            "We must keep moving Sire," the other guard called from the base of the stairs.

            Cyra followed the Emperor down the stairs, pausing for moment to pick up the Captain's fallen sword.

            "I don't understand, this place was supposed to be secret, how did they find us?" the Redguard mused.

            "Don't know but we have to keep moving, I'll take point, Baurus you bring up the rear. Don't worry they won't be the first to underestimate the Blades," the Imperial directed as he assumed command, turning to Cyra, "You stay here Prisoner."

            Cyra narrowed her eyes and was about to protest when the Emperor turned to her,

            "You must find your own way from here, our paths will cross again before the end though, I am sure of it," he said gently.

            The small group filed through the doorway and then closed the door leaving Cyra in the oppressively dark sanctum. She grasped the door only to find that the Blades had locked it from the other side.

            "Oblivion take that man!" she cursed the Imperial guard. A scratching noise that grated on the ears and nerves began to crescendo at her left. Cyra grasped Captain Renault's sword tightly although she was unsure it would do any good in the darkness.

            With a crumbling sound, one of the walls gave way; two huge rats plunged through the opening. A small amount of light trickled through the opening as well, enough for Cyra to aim her strikes effectively. The rats leapt viciously at her, Cyra hacked again and again with the sword until they lay dead at her feet. She paused to catch her breath for a moment; the forced inactivity of prison had left her feeling inept. She could still remember how to hold a sword and swing it, but it felt like being a novice all over again.

            Cyra stepped over the rat corpses and crawled carefully through the hole in the wall into a cavern scattered with great support columns, it seemed to be some sort of substructure to the Imperial City. Light filtered through a few holes in the ceiling dimly lighting the cavern, Cyra spied a chest in the corner as well as the remains of someone that had once ventured into the same depths. An old torch lay nearby, Cyra let flame crackle at her fingertips just long enough to light the aged pitch, the drain she felt told her how long out of practice she was with any of the arcane arts: not that it had ever been her particular gift. Cyra held the torch over the corpse; how exactly the adventurer had met their demise was unknown but a quick examination of the worn armor told her that it wasn't by any sort of weaponry. Cyra shook the bones out of the leather chest piece and sniffed it gingerly, it smelled old and musty but at least it didn't smell of death. She adjusted the buckles on the armor the best she could, a few of the straps had rotted and snapped but anything would afford her more protection than the standard issue prison sackcloth. She shook the bones from the boots and knocked them vigorously against the ground with one final shake for good measure to knock anything loose that might be living inside before pulling them on. She cringed a bit at the feeling against her bare feet,

            "Well, beggars can't be choosers," she said out loud with a shudder as she tentatively wiggled her toes. Cyra poked through the other items the adventurer had left behind and gathered up what she thought might still be useful into a partially rotted leather knapsack and shouldered it along with a quiver of arrows and a rusty old bow.    

            She slowly crawled around the sub-terrain picking up the occasional item and putting down a few more rats before coming across a door and the corpse of a goblin. She riffled through the goblin's pack and discovered a key and a few potions, scrolls and gems which she added to her own cache before trying the key in the door: it fit perfectly. The door swung in to reveal a pitch-black tunnel leading deeper underground; having nowhere else to go, Cyra moved forward.


	2. Chapter 2

            “Ugh!” Cyra groaned in annoyance as she pulled the Captain’s sword from yet another goblin corpse. She had bumbled through the twisting tunnels beneath the Imperial City for what seemed like hours, hacking her way through rats, an unending supply of goblins and walking corpses. It was getting to the point that where she wondered if she would ever see the light of day again. Cyra peered into a small ravine where the goblins had corralled a pack of rats,  
“I suppose if worse comes to worst I can always back track here and eat you one by one,” she said to the rats with a grimace: the rats ignored her.

Cyra rifled through the odds and ends that the goblins had collected over the years for anything that might be of use or value: she found very little save a new torch. Stuffing what she could in the knapsack, she lit the torch using the goblin’s campfire and crept into the next passage with her sword drawn. At the end of the passage she could see a bit of natural light filtering through a hole in the wall that led back into the sanctum. She could also hear muffled voices: she climbed through the hole and crept closer.

            “Has anyone seen the prisoner?”

            “Do you think she followed us?”

            “How could she have?”

            “Look out Sire! Here they come again!”

Cyra could hear the fight break out, it was brief and it ended just as she reached the edge of the ledge. It was at least a seven-foot drop to the floor where the Emperor and his Blades stood.

            “Damn it! There’s that prisoner! Kill her she’s probably working with the assassins,” the Imperial guard shouted as he drew his sword.

            “No, she is not one of them. She will help us. She must help us. Stand down,” the Emperor ordered.

            “As you command Sir,” the Imperial said begrudgingly.

            “Come closer, my guards will not harm you,” the Emperor called.

Cyra tossed her weapons and knapsack to the ground before swinging herself over the side of the ledge and dropping down awkwardly.

            “Here, make yourself useful and carry this,” the Redguard said handing her a lit torch, “I’m Baurus, a member of the Blades: the Emperor’s personal bodyguards.”

Cyra took up a position next to the Emperor; ignoring the icy glare the Imperial guard shot her.

“Let’s move,” the Imperial said.

“They mean well,” Uriel said in a low voice, “They just can’t understand why I trust you. They haven’t seen the same things that I’ve seen, even now I couldn’t explain it if I tried. You know the Nine?” he asked.

“I don’t know that I’m on terribly good terms with the gods as of late,” Cyra replied, certainly none of them had helped her in the last several years.

The Emperor considered her statement for a few moments then nodded in understanding,

“I’ve served the Nine all my days, I chart my course in their stars. I’ve seen the hours of my death approaching; in this I’ve been most fortunate.”

“You’re not afraid to die?” Cyra asked.

“The Nine have granted me a measure of peace, this is my destiny,” he said simply.

“And you’ve foreseen my destiny as well?”

“The Nine grant me no opinion of success but I’ve beheld the dawn of Akatosh in your face. Today the Shadow will hide you from destiny’s cunning hounds on this day,” he replied earnestly. Before Cyra could decipher the cryptic statement Baurus’s voice rang out,

“Protect the Emperor!”  

Assassins once again appeared from the shadows. Cyra drew her sword and stood at the Emperor’s side, ready to defend him if any should break past the guards. The assassins were swiftly put down and the party was on guard as they advanced slowly once again through the passages.

“We’re almost there,” the Imperial called, “ the exit should be up here.”

He grasped the gate and pulled,

“Damn it! It’s barred from the other side: a trap!” he exclaimed.

“What about that side passage back there?” Baurus questioned.

“Worth a shot. Come on,” the Imperial urged.

They filed into a narrow passageway that opened into a small room.

“It’s a dead end, now what? It’s your call Sire,” Baurus said.

“What was that?” the Imperial said, “Damn it, they’re behind us!” he cried.

“Stay here, guard the Emperor with your _life_ ,” Baurus commanded Cyra.

Cyra nodded and held her sword a little tighter as battle cries and shouts erupted from the preceding room. The clashing of metal grew louder as the assassins pressed the Blades back. Suddenly the Emperor turned to Cyra,

“I can go no further,” he said as he unclasped the large ruby amulet from his throat. “You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants, he must not have the Amulet of Kings. Take the amulet; give it to Jauffre, he alone knows where to find my last son. Find him and close shut the Jaws of Oblivion!” he cried as he pressed the necklace into her palm and curled her fingers around it.

The wall directly behind the Emperor crumbled and an assassin materialized in the void behind it. Cyra was frozen to the spot as he plunged a dagger into the Emperor, killing him instantly.

“You picked a bad day to take up with the Septims stranger,” the assassin snarled as he turned his attention her, Cyra barely had time to block his attack. The assassin quickly maneuvered her into a corner as she blocked and parried for all she was worth. Out of practice and out of shape, Cyra could barely keep up let alone find an opening.

“For the Emperor!” Baurus cried as he drove his sword through the assassin from behind.

Cyra collapsed against the wall in relief when the assassin fell.

“No. No, no, no, no!” Baurus cried, “We failed! I’ve failed,” he said sadly as he went to the Emperor’s corpse and turned him gently on to his back. He looked up at Cyra, genuine grief staining his features,

“The Amulet…” he said suddenly, “Where is the Amulet of Kings?”

Cyra produced it cautiously,

“He gave it to me,” she said.

“You? Why?” Baurus said.

“He said that I need to take it to Jauffre, that he has another son and Jauffre would know where to find him,” Cyra replied.

Baurus’s brow wrinkled as he processed this new information,

“Hmmm… well it’s nothing that I know about but if anyone would know Jauffre would be the man. He’s the Grandmaster of the Blades, although you wouldn't know it to look at him. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory just outside Chorrol. Many of the Blades live undercover, we’re the Emperor’s spies predominately,” he mused.

The sound of Baurus’s knees cracking echoed softly in the sanctum as he stood, he looked very tired. Fishing through his pockets, he produced a rusted key and held it out to Cyra,

“You’ll need this to get out that last door, it leads to the Imperial City sewers. There’s probably rats and goblins down there but I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle, experienced prisoner that you are,” he said with half a smirk.

“Scout actually, or at least I was once upon a time,” she said accepting the key, “my name is Cyra.”

“Well, either way, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The Emperor trusted you for a reason, it’s the least I can do to follow suit. Thanks for recovering Captain Renault’s sword by the way, I’ll make sure it gets a place of honor in the hall of the Blades: it’s tradition,” Baurus said taking the katana from Cyra’s hand. 

“Glenroy always carried an extra blade: he won’t have any use for it now, you can take it,” he said, handing her a short steel sword.

“What about you?” Cyra asked hefting the sword experimentally.

“I’ll wait here with the Emperor’s body until help arrives,” he said somberly. 

“Be safe then,” she said as she climbed through the hole in the wall.

“You too; don’t let anyone know what you carry. The Amulet of Kings holds real power; it’s a gift from Akatosh himself to the Septim line,” Baurus warned.

Cyra nodded and with one last parting glance at the Emperor’s body she slipped into the shadows and through the door into the sewers.

 

Sometime later Cyra pulled open the grate covering the sewer’s exit and took a tentative step outside. What had been a violent storm the previous evening was now steady rain blanketing the land in a cold gray aura. Cyra could honestly say she’d never been happier to feel raindrops on her face. The Imperial City sewers emptied out into a remote area of Lake Rumare: the large body of water surrounding the island city. An old service dock was nearby but it looked like it hadn’t been repaired, let alone used, in a long time. Cyra stowed her things on the dock and with a few furtive glances, she stripped naked and plunged into the lake. She submerged herself as long as physically possible before surfacing. She grabbed a handful of water hyacinth leaves and scrubbed until her skin was raw: it had been so long since she was clean. Although, truth be told it would still be a long while before she truly _felt_ clean again.

When she had finished bathing she emerged from the water cautiously. Certain that she was still alone, she pulled the Amulet of Kings out of her knapsack and turned it over in her hand. The giant ruby was set in gold and encrusted with accent gems: the stone gleamed with an inner fire.  Unsure of the best way to keep it safe she tried to fasten it around her neck but the necklace refused to stay on: perhaps because she didn’t have Septim blood flowing through her veins. Cyra pulled several articles of clothing out of the knapsack that she had looted from the goblins. Some of the clothes were in good repair, almost new: the goblins must have robbed a supply shipment at one time or another. She tore one of the skirts into long strips and used it to bind her breasts, securing the Amulet of Kings within the wraps. She pulled on a woolen shirt and skirt before slipping the old boots back on and buckling the rotted chest piece back in place. Shouldering her equipment, Cyra set out to find Jauffre: it was the least she could do considering the Emperor had gifted her freedom once again.     


	3. Chapter 3

            It was late evening when Cyra made it to the main road leading into the Imperial City. Regardless of any promises she’d made the Emperor, she hadn’t got far along the road before she realized that something to eat and a good night sleep would have to take precedence over any kind of travel.  She passed through the main gates of the city warily, she fully expected the guards to immediately seize her, even though her shackles were well hidden beneath the leather armor. Instead the guard on duty just nodded his head to her in greeting as he would any other citizen,

“If you’re looking for a room for the evening, you could try the All-Saints Inn over in the Temple District or there’s the Tiber Septim Hotel here in the Talos Plaza District. I’d avoid the Bloated Float, it may be cheap but it’s on the Waterfront District: not a terribly nice neighborhood” he suggested as he opened the gate.

“Thank you,” Cyra replied as she hurried away.

Lampposts, and guards with torches lined the streets of the city, people were milling about as they made their way to their homes or local pub. The Imperial City no longer felt safe to Cyra though, even the well populated areas: that illusion had been shattered long ago. She hurried along the streets towards the Temple District, past the dragon statue at the center of the plaza. Along the way she caught snippets of conversation, it seemed news traveled ridiculously fast: everyone was talking about the Emperor’s murder.

Cyra nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice called out to her,

“Hey Stranger, could you spare a coin or two? I’ve just been shaken down by that bastard watchman and he took my last septim,” a middle-aged Redguard man approached her. He wore a well-kept suit of clothes and his hair was tied neatly at the base of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she said warily, “I don’t have much at the moment.”

“Damn. I don’t get paid until tomorrow, I guess I’ll have to wait until then to eat,” he said dejectedly.

“What do you mean you were shaken down?” Cyra asked, the scenario felt just a little too familiar for her liking.

“It was one of the guard captains, I don’t know his name but I’d recognize him if I saw him again. He came into Jensine’s shop while I was shopping with my friend, Luronk, and accused us of stealing. Even Jensine declared we were innocent but he demanded that we pay his ”fine” or he’d arrest us on the spot!” the man said indignantly. “It’s so frustrating, I just wish someone could do something about it,” he added with a sigh.

“Look,” Cyra began, “I don’t have any gold but I have a few things that I might be able to trade for some room and board. If you want to come with me, I might be able to get enough for the both of us to eat.” The Redguard perked up at her offer,

“That sounds wonderful, thank you!” he said.

“I can’t guarantee anything but hopefully we won’t go hungry this evening,” she said sympathetically.

The man nodded,

“I’m Ruslan by the way,” he said by way of belated introduction.

“Cyra,” Cyra replied as Ruslan fell into step beside her.

They walked at a leisurely pace along the street and through the gate into the Temple District. Just east of the gate sat the All-Saints Inn; it was indistinguishable from any of the other dwellings that were built into the city walls, save the sign out front declaring it as a business establishment. Ruslan held the door politely for Cyra as they went inside. Wrought iron lanterns suspended on chains hung from the ceiling lighting the interior of the inn with a warm glow. Blue tapestries, richly embroidered with gold thread, covered the walls: serving as both decoration and providing functional warmth to the room. A few patrons still sat at tables scattered around the room enjoying a late meal.

“Hello Ruslan!” a Redguard called cheerfully from behind the bar, “You’ve brought a friend, I see.”

“Yes. Willet, this is Cyra. Cyra: Willet, publican of this fine establishment,” Ruslan introduced the two of them.

“What can I do for you young lady?” Willet said with a flattering smile.

“I was hoping I might be able to trade with you for a room and some fare for the evening,” Cyra said hopefully.

“Certainly, let’s take a look at what you’ve got,” Willet said as Cyra unpacked several little potion flasks from her bag. Ruslan wandered about the room as they conducted business making pleasant conversation with his neighbors.

“Well, I should be able to turn a profit on the potions and salves with little difficulty and you’ve made yourself a good bit of gold, I would call this a mutually beneficial transaction. Care to turn some of it back my way?” Willet said good-naturedly.

“Of course,” Cyra said with a smile, “I’m hoping you have a room available for the evening and if there’s still a warm meal to be had, both Ruslan and I would greatly appreciate it.”

“I have a room available for fifteen gold… it’s only a single though,” he commented in a low voice throwing a glance at Ruslan, “Food and drink is available for two gold apiece this evening,” he added.

“He’s only staying for dinner,” Cyra replied with a raised eyebrow as she counted out nineteen septims. Visible relief flooded Willet’s features,

“I’ll get two plates made up right away. Your room is downstairs at the end of the hall,” he said sliding a key across the counter.

“Thank you,” Cyra said before wandering over to a vacant table in the corner of the room, Ruslan joined her a few minutes later.

“So, it seems you were successful my friend,” Ruslan commented as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Yeah, Willet is putting together some food for us right now. Tell me about the Imperial City, I’ve been away a long time,” Cyra said conversationally.

“You’re curious, probably too curious for your own good these days,” Ruslan sighed, “I would suggest staying clear of the Watchmen if you’re looking for advice: they all seem to be corrupt these days.”

“I can’t say that sounds too different from the last time I passed through here,” Cyra said.

“Here you go,” Willet interrupted the conversation, laying two large bowls of venison stew on the table and a bottle of inexpensive wine, “It’s not fancy but it fills you up on a gray day. If you want fancy, well we’ve got the Tiber Septim Hotel for that,” he chuckled as he walked back to resume his post at the bar.

“Interesting guy,” Cyra said with a smile, “he seemed very pleased to hear that you were only here for dinner.”

Ruslan’s expression rapidly shifted from surprised and abashed to mildly amused in the space of a few moments, then he sobered.

“That also might be due to these extra fines,” he said in a low voice, “It seems the term public indecency has broad and widely interpreted meaning these days. I expect Willet has had to deal with some of the broader interpretations recently.”

“Why doesn't someone file a complaint?” Cyra asked between bites of stew. It tasted delicious, she found it very difficult to not inhale the entire bowl and demand more after having subsisted on so little, for so long. She tried to focus on the conversation at hand instead to keep her mind off the food.

“Almost all the merchants and publicans have been victim of a shakedown at one point or another. They’re afraid of the ramifications, we all are. Who do you complain to when the people meant to be keeping the law are the ones breaking it? The Emperor? We don't even have one of those anymore,” Ruslan said angrily, he took a long drink from his tankard.

Cyra’s face fell at the mention the Emperor; Ruslan changed the subject.

“I must thank you for dinner, you are most gracious. Most would have completely ignored a man begging in the streets, especially in later hours of the evening,” he said, “but here you’ve shared what little you had with a stranger: the Divines will certainly look favorably upon you.”

Cyra stifled a laugh,

            “Thank you for the blessing but I rather doubt that.”

            “You should be careful though. I’m grateful that you took pity upon me but the Imperial City isn’t safe for anyone these days, especially charming young ladies such as yourself,” he said in a serious tone.

            “I am well aware,” Cyra said dryly.

Ruslan held up his hands in resignation, and they fell into silence for a time until Cyra spoke again.

“What if someone found a way to get this guy caught?” she asked.

“The captain?” he asked in surprise.

“It seems like he’s at the root of much the corruption, it wouldn’t take care of everything but it might… stem the tide, so to speak,” Cyra supplied.

Ruslan mused for a few minutes over the prospect,

“It’s impossible,” he concluded as he leaned across the table to refill her wine tankard before refilling his own.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Cyra said leaning back in her chair thoughtfully. She had a few more items to pawn from the goblin’s cache in the morning; she might as well sell them to this Jensine woman. “Where is Jensine’s shop?” she asked.

“In the Market District with the rest of the shops, Jensine’s “Good as New” Merchandise, it’s called,” Ruslan replied with a raised brow, “Why?”

“I have a few other things I need to pawn, that’s all,” Cyra replied.

“Don't do anything foolish friend. I plan to lay low myself for a while after this episode,” he warned.

“I won’t,” she replied, “What do you do for work?” she asked trying to shift the subject.

“Mostly I deliver packages and letters here in the Imperial City. A short range courier of sorts I suppose,” he said, “What about you?”

“I used to be a long range courier, I’m between employers at the moment,” Cyra replied vaguely.

“Hmm… well I’ve heard rumors that the Fighter’s Guild is looking for new members. It’s rough work but if you can stomach it, it’s not a bad way to make some money,” he offered.

“I might look into that, thanks,” she said tipping her mug in his direction. Cyra spent the rest of the meal listening to Ruslan spin yarns about a friend of his that used to do work for the Fighter’s Guild years ago. Finally, he rose and thanked her once again before taking his leave. Cyra sank back in the chair with a sigh, she’d had more conversation in the last forty-eight hours than she’d had in years: it was rather tiring.

“Anything else I can get for you ma’am?” Willet asked as he cleared away the empty bowls and wiped the table.

“Just breakfast in the morning if that’s not too much trouble,” she said as she gathered her things up.

“No trouble at all,” he said congenially.

“Thanks,” she said before ducking down the staircase to the lodging rooms below. The hall was dark save one lantern that hung overhead. Cyra unlocked her room and dropped her knapsack on the floor. She closed and locked the door behind her before deciding to wedge a chair against it as well, better to be safe than sorry. The L-shaped room had the same arched stone ceilings as the common room; it seemed to be the predominant design for all of the dwellings and shops in the Imperial City. Woven tapestries lined the walls and floors, a little table sat in one corner with a bottle of wine upon it and another chair sat beside it. A large painting of a wayshrine adorned one of the walls; a small chest of drawers and the small single bed were tucked out of sight around the corner. Cyra tried to work the waterlogged armor off carefully but only ended up snapping two more of the aged leather straps in the process. She threw it on the floor in frustration; it had reached the point of beyond repair. Peeling off the rest of her clothes and laying them across the furniture to dry, she hurried to arrange the rest of her things before diving under the covers to escape the cool night air. Sinking into her first bed in years, she drifted off to sleep with the Amulet of Kings clasped tightly in one hand, a dagger in the other, and prison shackles on both wrists.


End file.
